Riding My Bike at the End of the World
In the event of an apocalypse,
I shall hope to have my bike.
And upon its seat I’ll place my hips,
and head into the night.
The trees and street will flutter fast
like runaway butterflies fleeing,
and with my bell I’ll twinkle past
those paralyzed with weeping.
To the horizon my bike will head
with no thought of return or hope,
and the faster I pedal the less I dread
my neck found in God’s rope
And when in my clutches you find this poem,
at least you’ll know I was happy goin’!